


Non-Critical Peacetime Circumstances

by kuillsins (EykielAfterDark)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bottom Shiro, M/M, NSFW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 19:09:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7519816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EykielAfterDark/pseuds/kuillsins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You look better than I remember," Keith murmurs, a hand resting just beside Shiro's crotch. Shiro actually rewards him with a whimper, his gaze blurry and faraway. "I’ve only dreamed of ever seeing you like this again."</p><p>- </p><p>Porn with mild(?) plot, a Keith/Shiro fic because we need more bottom Shiro pls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Non-Critical Peacetime Circumstances

**Author's Note:**

> THAnks Noct my beloved gf who got me into bottom Shiro hell and oops my hand slipped for 3 hours.
> 
> the original note I'd put on this piece of trash is as follows:  
> PLS FORGIVE ME I STARTED THIS AT LIKE 1030PM I AM SLEEP DEPRIVED AND JACKED ON CXAFFEINR I HATE MY LIFE pleas ebe kind
> 
>  
> 
> [not-so-shameless plug for all #sheith writers and artists! If you're up for taking part in a Sheith zine, check out [@sheithzine on twitter](https://twitter.com/sheithzine) and volunteer your excellent services! c:]

Shiro was the weight that kept him tethered, the brief moment of hesitation that flickered before he struck. Shiro was many things, to the many things that Keith hated about himself. Keith was fury, lightning cracking decisions, regrets and chances never missed. Maybe they were opposites, like rock and storm; maybe they complemented, like fire and steel.  
  
But long before Keith could work it out Shiro turned into the yearlong ache that accompanied a chilly desert.  
  
And then Shiro was back, truly back. So was Lance, apparently, a cargo pilot he'd left behind along with his old life at the garrison. And two newcomers Pidge and Hunk who should've accompanied the memories he'd discarded when he walked out those reinforced gates. But here was the something he could never bring himself to give up, the someone who had seared into him so deep that he couldn't forget.  
  
After all Shiro was that heat against his neck, that bruising grip on his wrists as teeth tugged and pulled and nipped.  
  
But this Shiro was different. He was much stockier than Keith remembered, heavier built, Shiro's weight was now in places Keith knew grew not only from training regimens but rather from daily use. Only the labourers moved this way, with no wasted shift of taut flesh. It gave Shiro the air of a high-strung machine that could burst into movement if Keith looked at him wrong. But Shiro was unconscious, and even then he looked lost and small, and fragile, and Keith wanted nothing more than to take the boy into his arms and hold him close and remind him that even though space was deadly and cold Keith was the place where Shiro he could be warm and safe.  
  
Shiro's expression twisted then, caught in the snare of a bad dream, and Keith left the room in case he broke something else that could still be broken.

 

  
When Keith first lay eyes on Shiro he knew the boy would be sorted for leadership. It was the confident gaze, that firm jaw, his ramrod straight walk that almost seemed like a march. Even if you didn't know Shiro, if you had read a cadet instructional manual even once you would come pretty close to what probably went on in Shiro's head. Shiro was constantly analysing, deliberating, calculating, but his smile was always soft, never cold, never rare.  
  
"G'morning, Keith," was the first thing Shiro had said with a nod as they passed in the corridors.  
  
It was indeed a morning, much better now that Shiro was here, and the casual slacks hung on the boy's hips just so, the thin cotton shirt wrapping around those arms, Keith could see the boy breathing, steady and measured, and his abs were fucking chiseled and oh _come on_ he didnt know abs could move like that.  
  
"Damn it," Keith had said into the silence, then paused. "… I left my watch in my bunk, thanks for reminding me."  
  
Shiro, mercifully or not, merely looked a little bemused. "You're welcome, i guess."  
  
it was when Keith finally escaped to his bunk that he realised he'd thrown the boy a salute with his watch firmly buckled on his wrist.

 

  
07:38. He still remembered the square face of the garrison issued watch, and how as he stared at it those numbers burned neon bright into his eyes.  
  
It's half past the hour, and Shiro's awake. Even as a cadet Shiro has never been rational in the morning. Keith used to make the coffee and badly toast the bread. Everything's cold by the time Shiro makes it to his desk to eat. But now Shiro's the one making coffee, perfectly toasting… that weirdly shaped brick of Altean grub that makes his stomach lurch. Shiro slides the warmed food over to Keith, and Keith wonders if Shiro has even slept at all, or if his demons are keeping him up, making sleep elusive, clawing dark rings under his eyes.  
  
Maybe Keith is overzealous and over-imagining things, but the air seems to shift and settle on them strange, and static crackles in the quiet between them.  
  
Shiro stares at his food brick, and Keith gamely gnaws on his. He's so attuned to Shiro's movements that even though some of the body language is wrong Keith recognises the telltale twitch of Shiro's thumb that says he's struggling to put his thoughts into words.  
  
"Good training yesterday," begins Shiro.  
  
Keith holds back an exhale of disappointment. "Yeah. You were great."  
  
He lets Shiro ease them into idle small talk, so maybe the both of them dont need to face the truly alien thing that festers between them.

 

  
He is certain that Shiro's watching him. He knows he should ignore it. For now, at least. It's a delicate operation. It's a tactful tug of war, to see who gives in first. It's predator toying with prey. And it's a good thing Shiro is all of those things so Keith can be none of those things.  
  
"I… Look, it doesn’t matter." Shiro is evasive when Keith confronts him in his quarters. Keith just wants the boy to make eye contact with him again.  
  
If Keith's voice comes out too accusatory, he doesn't notice. "You remember. I know you remember."  
  
"It was a long time ago," Shiro replies; a protest that is not quite a protest, and Keith refuses to let him take this.  
  
"It was only a year."  
  
"A year is a long time," Shiro cuts back.  
  
Keith sees and hears as much as feels the wound reopen somewhere in Shiro's undiscoverable depths. He forces himself to swallow, to take a deep breath. Shiro closes those pensive eyes, and Keith immediately knows he's lost him.  
  
Instead it is Shiro who jumpstarts the conversation, "I'm sorry. I… I can’t forget."  
  
Can’t forget what, Keith wants to say, but doesn't.  
  
"I know," he says, although he doesn't have the foggiest idea. Those are the words Shiro needs to hear and Keith is right, they're like a salve, cool and relieving against the flared skin of an old injury. Shiro glances at him. Keith continues, "I’m... Sorry too. I shouldve been more understanding."  
  
Perhaps all Shiro needs is a shoulder to lean on, as if his own wide frame isnt good enough. Nothing more is said, and Keith figures hes overstayed his welcome (intrusion). He turns to leave.  
  
Next thing he knows, cold metal has encircled his wrist and is tugging him back. Shiro's artificial hand, around his.  
  
"I have never forgotten," when Shiro speaks there is an old, blessedly familiar fire that shifts in the depths of his eyes. Keith stops breathing. His expression makes Shiro smile, and suddenly the year that kept them apart evaporates, and time is relative again.  
  
They fall against the bed.

 

  
Keith doesn't remember much, only remembers hands everywhere, one warm and one cold, the sound of steel plated armour falling to the ground, and he is on his back staring wide-eyed at Shiro as the boy straddles him. With his dominant hand a cruel metal limb, Shiro's only other option is clumsy and unpracticed, but eager and almost desperate to open himself up. Shiro's groans are the same, watery and guttural, and still fall from his lips when Keith runs a feathery touch down the inside of his thighs. The boy's member responds eagerly to Keith's touch, swelling out, blushing, a perfect tilt that gives Keith full view of the clear fluid running down.  
  
"You look better than I remember," Keith murmurs, a hand resting just beside Shiro's crotch. Shiro actually rewards him with a whimper, his gaze blurry and faraway. "I’ve only dreamed of ever seeing you like this again."  
  
"I'm not usually that sensitive," Shiro forces out. Keith ghosts his thumb across the puckered skin of Shiro's entrance, and is rewarded with a faint throb. "There wasn’t much… _ahh_ … opportunity… back then."  
  
Keith's own length is already hard and straining, slicked with some of the old lube he'd been too delusional to throw away. See, he was right. Shiro's here, about to slide down on Keith's length. Scars, some faint and some darkened from severe abrasion, hold Shiro together like a fishnet. That once marble skin is now marred, a criss cross lace of punishment and discipline. It hurts Keith too, when Shiro flinches, but Keith rests gentle fingertips on the ruined skin anyway, relearning the body of this put-together Shiro because it's all he has left but also everything he’d ever wanted.  
  
And that unravels the last of Shiro's hesitation. "I'm going to put it in," he whispers. Shiro's voice, usually strong and firm but now high and needy, defiles this Lion castle. Keith revels in it.  
  
"Y-Yeah," Keith grins, resting his hands on Shiro's hips, the nook he knows Shiro loves most.  
  
With a grin of his own and a groan Shiro slides Keith in and doesn't stop until his ass meets Keith's crotch. Keith cant ever prepare himself when Shiro rides him. His breaths are ragged, and so are Shiro's, the boy throwing his head back in the sheer bliss of it all. Keith's length throbs. It's hot and wet and dirty and _fuck_ if he loves this side of Shiro most, how Shiro trusts him so utterly that he would reveal this vulnerable side to him; and Keith trusts Shiro back and lets him set the pace.  
  
The pace.  
  
Times like these Keith feels like Shiro's the one fucking him. Shiro moves with the pace of a stallion. Keith can only fist his hands in the sheets, dumbly watch those powerful thighs work. He’s eager to let pleasure overtake him, rendering him mute. He's gasping hard but Shiro — Shiro is _moaning_ , every note going straight to Keith's groin, the sounds sweet and slicked and strained with pleasure as Shiro fucks himself on Keith's length.  
  
He can see Shiro's lips and throat move. _Keith_ , slotted in between those heedless sounds of arousal. Keith grits his jaws. "Shiro," he forces out, arching his back and hips to meet Shiro halfway. The boy has to steady himself on Keith's knees to get that perfect angle — of course Keith remembers, and when he sees Shiro twist his body in just the right way he knows Shiro's re-remembering it too. Shiro's length bounces when they connect at that sweet spot. And as always Shiro cries out, all composure falling away as they form each other's other halves again.  
  
"Keith." It's a plea. Keith obliges and wraps his hand around Shiro's length, pulling it fast and sliding down slow. Shiro groans. "Keith, Keith Keith Keith—"  
  
Their eyes meet. Keith pushes himself up to meet Shiro's kiss. Shiro's teeth reclaim their rightful place on Keith's lower lip, and then again on the juncture of Keith's neck and shoulder. "Shiro," Keith whispers breathily, hotly, into Shiro's ear.  
  
And that is the crest; Shiro shudders, tightening around Keith, and Keith comes with a rush too. They spend themselves over and inside each other, gasping for breath in the morning chill. They collapse against each other and Keith pulls the sheets over them both as the chime for breakfast goes.  
  
Shiro nibbles at his ear. This playful Shiro, Keith loves to know how to deal with. He jabs a finger into Shiro's unprotected waist and smirks when the boy recoils in betrayal.  
  
Still, Shiro accepts him in his heated, sweaty embrace, and Keith fits his nose into Shiro's shoulder, and it is as if no time has passed at all.

 

  
Shiro has to answer Keith's headset with his metal limb. It's harder than it looks, everything's fiddly and so much more suited for the delicate fingers Keith has compared to his own.  
  
"Keith? Oh thank Altea you’re alright. Where are you?" It's Allura, sounding faintly anxious. "You’re usually in time for breakfast, and I was so certain something had happened to you."  
  
"Nothing's happened," murmurs Shiro, glancing down at the sleeping boy in his arms. Carefully, so carefully, he edges a stray strand of hair out of Keith's face.  
  
"You should've left a message, it's only common courte… sy…" Allura's voice trails off. "... Shiro?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Only silence on the other end of the line.  
  
Inwardly, Shiro adds another penny to the pile, and gives himself a pat on the back.  
  
"Oh," says Allura dumbly.  
  
Faintly, he can hear Pidge's triumphant "Ten bucks" and Hunk groans.  
  
Keith sniffs and burrows deeper against him. In response he crooks his metal arm (now warmed) to keep out the chill.  
  
"Well," the businesslike coolness has returned to Allura's voice. "This is an allowance I will make only once, and in non-critical peacetime circumstances."  
  
"Understood. Tell the others we'll be there for lunch."  
  
Keith is drooling on his good arm.  
  
Shiro hangs up, cradles the boy carefully to his chest, and smiles at the realisation that it is this one feeling, nestled between sheets and in the arms of his lover, that has kept him going when he couldn't even trust his memories. He watches Keith for a long while, until even the sun soaks through the blinds.  
  
Later he will regret not washing off immediately. His arm is going to itch, and he's going to be sore. But it's so warm, and he’s since gotten used to the post-sex warm bundle nestled comfortably against his side.  
  
But for now — for now, Shiro doesn't have schedules or deadlines. His eyes drift shut. No Galra chase him, no escape plans fail. Nothing but the sound of Keith's breathing, reminding him that he is alive, and he has something to fight for and protect. Keith is here. And so is he.

**Author's Note:**

> HI HI thank you for reading all of it!! And I sincerely hope you enjoy! 
> 
> If you want to watch me descend I also have a [SFW account Kuill](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kuill) where I will be posting more VLD fanfic hopefully, and a twitter account @k_uill where I yell about robot space cats.


End file.
